


Lost Shadows

by opalmatrix



Category: Chronicles of the Kencyrath - P. C. Hodgell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffee Shops, Coming of Age, Developing Relationship, F/M, Long Lost/Secret Relatives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 17:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17047718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalmatrix/pseuds/opalmatrix
Summary: Jamie's a recent immigrant with a job at a coffee house.   Victor's the rich scion of a mysterious organization. And maybe a mutual attraction isn't going to be enough.





	Lost Shadows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aondeug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aondeug/gifts).



> Aondeug, you suggested a _Kencyrath coffee shop AU._ As dismayed as I was initially by the idea (a sweetness-and-light AU for a fantasy series featuring incest and screaming vegetables!), it wouldn't let go of me. I hope this is something like what you had in mind! Beta by [**Minutia_R**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minutia_R/pseuds/Minutia_R) and [**etothey**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etothey/profile).

#### Jamie

Lucky Beans was filled with early-morning sun when Jamie came down the stairs from the living quarters above the store. She wasn't exactly looking forward to filling coffee orders at such an hour, but all in all, the morning shift was a good thing. It was just one of the changes she was making in her life.

She caught Boo, the owner's fat tabby, and tossed him back up the stairs before she opened the door to the shop proper. Clementina, the manager, was putting a tray of cinnamon buns into the big oven. She nodded as she saw Jamie. "Right on time, missy. A good start. And Girum left things in fine order for you."

"So I see," said Jamie. She pulled a clean apron from one of the hooks on the wall, tied it on, and checked the supplies: whole milk, non-fat, soy, almond. Espresso coffee, dark and light regular roasts, decaf. Hazelnut, vanilla, and chocolate syrups ... .

Clementina cast an eye over the service counter: sugar shakers filled with turbinado, packets of sweetener, wooden stirring sticks, napkins, plastic tableware. A row of quiches stood ready, each with its own knife, a stack of small plates at the head of the line "What day do you start classes?" she asked.

"On Wednesday," said Jamie, unloading a rack of clean mugs from the dishwasher. "I guess they give us just a couple of class days the first week so we can get our books and things together."

"I still think 'Criminal Justice' doesn't sound like you." Clemmie was back at the oven, pulling out muffin pans. She maneuvered them into place on the cooling rack. "The way you breeze past the red lights on that bike. Speaking of which, isn't Lightning Couriers going to miss you?"

"Pender was decent about it. I can sign up for a couple of half-day shifts once I know how my schedule actually works out." Jamie checked the clock: less than 10 minutes until the opening. She set up the regular coffeemakers. "Marcus said Criminal Justice made as much sense as anything."

Clemmie scowled. "Of course it seemed good to the big goon. He's a neighborhood cop." She pulled an orange juice box from the cooler, then cut a slice of bacon-and-cheese quiche and put it on a plate. "There's your breakfast. Eat up, before the horde arrives."

Jamie look toward the door. Indeed, the early customers were loitering on the sidewalk, waiting for the door to open. Clemmie glanced over as well. "Speak of the devil. There's the big man himself."

She got up and opened the door just a crack. "Officer Nogueira! A word, please."

He edged his way through the partially opened door, a big bear of a man with a soft smile framed by a greying, close-trimmed beard. "Good morning, Ms. Clementina. Good morning, Jamie _mi luz_."

Jamie smiled and poured him a large cup of fresh light roast coffee, his usual order. "Good morning, Marc." She fitted the cup with a travel lid and passed it to him. 

He placed the cup on the nearest table and reached into his uniform jacket. "I have something for you, too," he said. "In honor of your new start."

It was a thin package about half a meter long, wrapped up in brown paper and painter's tape. She took it and found it surprisingly heavy. Under the paper was a slender black metal tube. "It's a collapsible baton," he said, holding his hand out for it. Jamie surrendered it, and he showed her how it worked. "Take it with you when you go to the dojo next," he said, and passed it back. "Sensei can show you some techniques for it."

Clemmie frowned and put her hands on her hips. "Why are you giving her a toy like that?" she asked.

Marcus took a sip of coffee. "Ah, that's the stuff! Well, ma'am, the street crime rate for the city college campus at night is a little high, especially in the first weeks of a new term. It can't hurt to have something to bring to an incident besides bare hands, even bare hands that have earned their brown belt recently."

"Thank you, Marc," said Jamie, touched. She tucked the baton beneath the counter, near the "trouble button" that auto-called the police.

Clemmie still looked disapproving. "I still don't think police work is in this girl's future."

"It's not exactly what I want," admitted Jamie. "But it comes closer than most other things."

"You both might be surprised," said Marc. "But I wouldn't worry. Stick to it for a couple of semesters, get to know the school. Ms. Clementina, I think your other regulars are about to storm the place."

Clemmie snorted and went to open the door.

#### Victor

Victor woke, his head muzzy, his father's dream-voice echoing around inside again. He shuddered and went to the bathroom, driving away the nightmare with bracing cold water. _Get out, Dad. You're dead._

Still, the memory hung around in the back of his mind as he got dressed.

Classes at the law school started in two days. Plenty of time, he thought, to get to know the neighborhood around the townhouse on 10th Street, in the capital's Holt Street area.

The late August morning was bright but a little hazy, promising sweltering temperatures later in the day. The capital was notorious for its hot, humid summers. Although Victor disapproved of the studied luxury of the KenCyr-owned building where his guardian had secured him an apartment, he appreciated its efficient air conditioning.

He locked the front door behind him and walked down the front steps. To his annoyance, Kinston Josephs was coming out of the basement apartment at the same time.

Apparently, Kinston was the bastard son of someone in the KenCyr organization. The fact that no one would say whose led Victor to guess that it was a female someone: even in these modern days of women executives in most other firms, the mainly conservative members of the organization never made a big deal about fathering out-of-wedlock kids. Victor knew of at least three others in his generation. No one wanted to talk about Kinston, though. The fact that he was albino and creepy to look at might have something to do with it. In any case, 19-year-old Victor had not been amused to come home from Dartmouth his second winter break to find that the little weirdo had taken up residence at Addison Arden's palatial Atlanta home.

Nowadays, Victor understood that it was only reasonable and decent to take the kid out of the academically-inadequate religious school where he'd been placed and give him a decent home and an education. Kinston was pre-med at John Adams University, and Addison said the boy was really doing very well, a credit to the organization and Addison's own guardianship.

Still, Victor twitched inside every time he saw that white hair and cringing posture. The fact that he knew he was being an asshole made him feel even worse. Even though Victor was indisputably the legitimate son of his father, former KenCyr leader Grant North, he also knew what it was like to grow up without parents in the picture. "Good morning, Kin," he made himself say.

"Oh, g-good morning, Victor," said Kinston, nearly knocking over the bike he'd been unlocking. His white hair hung lankly over his forehead and the huge sunglasses that shaded his weak eyes. John Adams's campus was nearly a mile away.

"Your classes haven't started yet, have they?" asked Victor.

"No, but I have my schedule," said Kinston. "I wanted to check the locations and figure out how to get to classes most efficiently."

"Well, good luck with that," said Victor. "See you around." With a mental sigh of relief, he strode off, duty done.

KenCyrs everywhere, dammit. It wasn't surprising: when you were a huge political consulting and lobbying organization, the capital was the place to be. KenCyr bigwigs liked to send their children to school there, and many of them maintained homes in the area. It was like being part of a huge dynastic family. Complete with political marriages.

He wished he hadn't thought about that. It brought last night's argument with Callista Cameron back in a prickly, embarrassing flood. He hardened his resolve. He was never going to become engaged to that woman, no matter how sexy she was or what her father, KenCyr's Calvin Cameron, might prefer.

His maundering had so distracted him that he'd almost walked past Lucky Beans. Burr had particularly recommended the place.

(More KenCyr nonsense: Burr Dickerson, the son of one of Addison's branch office managers, was supposedly in the city to take a certification in security operations. But it was plain to Victor that his main purpose was to keep an eye on Victor, Kinston, and a couple of other junior KenCyrs living in the immediate area. Still, sometimes the guy was useful.)

The storefront was a riot of color. Someone had painted the entire wall with dozens of cartoon coffee-bean people. Coffee beans in traditional Latin American and African clothing danced to the music of coffee-bean musicians. A coffee-bean police officer chased a couple of coffee-bean crooks carrying bags marked with dollar signs. Coffee-bean office workers sat at cafe tables and talked on cell phones. The cartoons were lively and engaging, making Victor smile despite his bad mood. The door was bright green, and the shop name was in fanciful orange letters with crisp black outlines.

He reached out to open the door, but it was opened for him. A tall, fat man with a shining bald head smiled at him. "Come in, welcome! I am Tibebu Eskinder, owner of the shop," he said. 

Eskinder had the deep brown skin and fine features of a native of Ethiopia. Victor recalled that the Holt Street corridor was famous for its Ethiopian restaurants and cafes. "Thank you, Mr. Eskinder," he said and stepped through the doorway.

The cafe was a big, sunny space with numerous tables of different styles and shapes, likely picked up at estate sales around the city. The coffee-bean people rioted across the walls in here, too, and the sturdy steel-framed chairs had seat cushions of orange, green, and bright blue. A counter across the back wall showed off ranks of baked goods in a window below the top and stacks of others under glass domes on the surface as well. Urns of drip coffee served a flock of patrons, both university students and office workers. A lively youth with Eskinder's features bussed tables, while the owner himself lugged a sidewalk easel sign out the front door. A tall, gaunt middle-aged woman with a tawny complexion served up cinnamon buns and slices of quiche, and a slim, dark-haired girl in a backward painter's cap was pulling espresso drinks. The whole place smelled deliciously of coffee and spices.

Victor joined the line of patrons giving their orders to the server. The college girls ahead of him paused their conversation about who had been vacationing where to size him up and exchange significant glances with each other. The office worker at the head of the line put his cell phone away and said, "A cinnamon bun, Clementina, and a double shot."

"Double shot, Jamie!" barked Cementina. She lifted one of the domes and used a pair of tongs to extract a beautiful cinnamon bun from the stack. Victor's mouth watered as she put it precisely on a plate and handed it to the customer. The espresso machine hissed dark coffee, and the barista passed the cup to Clementina, who rang up the sale. They worked as though they had been doing so together for some time.

The girls ordered lattes and a blueberry muffin to split. Victor watched the barista Jamie put the drinks together. She was taking some time over them, apparently doing art with the foam. The girls exclaimed over it and dropped a couple of extra quarters in the tip jar before going to a table. The barista watched them go, an indulgent smile on her thin lips. It was an awfully old look to be coming from a girl who seemed to be much the same age.

Now it was Victor's turn at the counter. He normally liked his coffee black, but he found himself requesting a cappuccino to go with the cinnamon bun that was calling his name. When the cup came from the barista, the foam showed the outline of the head of a unicorn, not terribly well done, but clear and recognizable.

He stared at it. The North family crest was a unicorn, rampant.

When he looked up, the barista named Jamie was looking at him, her dark eyebrows quirked. Her eyes were a cool, clear grey, and somehow, she looked terribly familiar.

He paid for his order and took his plate and cup over to her end of the counter. "Do I know you?" he asked.

She glanced over to her co-worker, but the current patron seemed to want tea and quiche only. "I don't think so," she said.

"I'm Victor North," he said. She looked puzzled for a moment and then shrugged. "Jaimelia Talisman," she replied, and then she had to pull another drink.

The cinnamon bun tasted as good as it smelled. Victor decided he'd come back again the next day.

#### Jamie

The law school student, Victor, was back again.

Jamie wasn't sure why she gave a rat's ass about it. Lucky Beans was, without a doubt, one of the best coffee shops on Holt Street, and a number of their customers became regulars. That intellectual young woman bending over her laptop, her hair in neat Bantu knots, was there every morning. So was the older woman in the immaculately tailored skirt suit, and the young guy in the mismatched jacket and trousers, with his hipster goatee and the tats peeking out from his shirt sleeves. 

So was this little gaggle of girls from the Columbia Cathedral School, in their uniform navy blazers and neat grey skirts or trousers, except that Jamie remembered them from her previous shift, in the afternoon. Maybe they had a half-holiday today.

"Jamie!" squealed one of them. "We miss you after school! Aren't you ever coming back?"

"Hello, Lyra," Jamie said. "No, not for a long time. I have classes in the afternoons and some evenings."

"Oh, you're going to college now? Where?"

One of the girls looked poorly and had ordered peppermint tea. For Lyra and the others, Jamie doled out three lattes and began swirling the foam: a daisy, a cat, a heart. "Columbia City College."

One of Lyra's classmates turned up her nose. "My parents say that CCC is just a jumped-up trade school."

"Morgan, that's a horrible thing to say!" Lyra grimaced apologetically at Jamie and put a five-dollar bill in the tip jar. Jamie smiled serenely and handed the girls their drinks. She gave Morgan the cat but doubted the girl would understand the insult. "Thank you, Lyra."

The others went off to a table in the front corner. Lyra looked around and whispered: "Sorry about Morgan. She has a big crush on my cousin Victor, and everyone knows he's been trying to get to know you."

"Oh?" said Jamie, feeling as though she'd stepped into a soap opera somehow. "Victor North? Is he really your cousin?"

"Nope, but his father was in business with Daddy, and so is his guardian, and I've known him since I was real little. I call his guardian 'Uncle Addison,' so Tori's my cousin."

The situation moved from a common soap opera to a full-blown _telenovela_. Jamie felt dizzy. Her mind presented her with a memory she hadn't seen for years: Jamie and a boy, dark-haired as she was, staggering around on little skis on a mountain slope under a brilliant blue sky. _What the hell?_

"Jamie!" barked Clemmie. "Wake up! A hot chocolate, no whip, and a double latte!"

"Oh!" Jamie straightened up and grabbed the right cups. Clementina frowned fiercely at Lyra, who blushed, grabbed her own cup, and hurried off to her friends' table.

Jamie made her breathing settle, as though she were doing _kata_. _Tori? Who were you?_

"Are you all right?" asked Victor, appearing unexpectedly at the counter. "What did that goose Lyra say to you?"

Jamie passed her latest orders to Clemmie, who was looking daggers at Victor. "She was calling you her cousin."

"Oh." Victor laughed ruefully. "No, they're just associates of my family. Families. Look, when do you get off? Have you got class this afternoon?""

"Yes, but not 'til three. I get off at one."

"OK, how about I come by and take you to lunch? I won't be upset if you split the bill. And I can tell you more about how I know Lyra."

The coffee orders were coming more slowly now: it was almost noon. "Give me 'til 1:30 to change and get my things together; then I can leave from lunch."

Victor gave her a ridiculous little bow, like he was in a historical movie. "I'm at your disposal, my lady."

#### Victor

That was how it had started, although Victor had to admit that he wasn't sure what "it" was.

They had lunch together or supper. They hung out at parks while the good weather lasted. They went to a few movies, mostly the $5 shows at the repertory cinema near the law school campus. Jamie was adamant about paying her own way.

But they didn't make out, or even hold hands. The closest they came was leaning on each other's shoulders at the movies. Jamie's shoulder was not especially comfortable: all bone and skinny muscle.

His nightmare father had decided she was a bad influence, or that she was a threat to Victor, or both. Grant's raving now included comparisons of Jamie to Victor's mother. It was only making Victor more determined to spend time with Jamie, but it was also costing him sleep.

He picked Jamie up for supper one night at the karate dojo and arrived early. She was sparring with a man perhaps five years older than Victor, lean but heavy in the shoulders, long-legged and a good head taller than Jamie. They were surprisingly well matched, and it was like watching a deadly dance. All the junior students, kneeling in rows on the mat, were transfixed. Jamie's opponent lunged and threw her, but she tumbled out of it, came to her feet in one smooth leap, and aimed a kick that would have taken out his jaw in real life.

She halted at the master's call, her foot still high over her head. Her opponent was smiling, a feline expression that somehow chilled Victor. The master gestured, Jamie lowered her foot, and the two opponents bowed and went to kneel with their fellow students.

Victor missed most of the master's address to the class, presumably analyzing the match. A memory had surfaced: himself wearing a miniature karate _gi_   and being instructed in basic forms, while a little girl with dark pigtails watched from a doorway,. Along with the vision came a wash of guilt, anger, and longing. _What the hell?_

"Victor!" Jamie was coming off the mat, a slight flush on her usually pale face. She was as close to pretty as he'd ever seen her, glowing with exercise and her victory. Her hair was falling out of its doubled-up braid, long dark tendrils escaping around her face. She huffed out an impatient breath, blowing one of the elf-locks away from her nose. "Let me grab a shower. I won't be five minutes."

She hurried off through a door at the other end of the lobby. Her opponent, presumably also headed for a changing room, paused for a second, looking at Victor's face, then gave Victor an enigmatic smile and continued on his way.

_Wow. What was that?_

Jamie was as good as her word, appearing in an amazingly short time. They had beef noodle soup, Vietnamese coffee, and mango sticky rice at a tiny restaurant and then went to watch _The Princess Bride_ , which Jamie had never seen before. She laughed several times, but mostly, when Victor glanced at her, she was watching the characters on the screen with the same distant, indulgent smile she'd used for Lyra and her friends at Lucky Beans. The only thing that really moved her was Inigo's fight with the six-fingered man near the end.

Outside afterward, the November night was chilly, with a steely edge of frost. "You liked Inigo," said Victor.

"He understood loyalty," said Jamie. "And he was so determined. I was actually quite worried for him near the end." She shivered. Victor cautiously put an arm around her. She allowed it, and he walked her home to Lucky Beans.

Clementina was putting a huge bowl of dough into the big cooler as they arrived, and Eskinder's nephew Girum was finishing up mopping the floor. The manager nodded as Victor greeted the staff, and then she frowned at Jamie. "Off to bed with you, missy. You've got to get up early."

Blond Tammy, the afternoon-evening barista, was drying cups. She winked at Victor knowingly as Jamie ran upstairs. He ignored her and addressed Clementina. "If I wanted to get Jamie a jacket, what size would I get?"

She put her hands on her slight hips and scowled at him. "Why are you buying her a jacket?"

"She was cold tonight, coming back. It's only going to get worse. I think she'd look good in a leather one."

"Ooo-wee!" exclaimed Tammy.

Clementina sucked in her lips and stalked over to him. "Young man, you're not to be buying her expensive presents! She's already _that_ worried about you and your money. She'd have to be grateful, and she'd hate it. Can't you see that?"

"But I don't like seeing her cold!"

"Look, dummy," said Tammy. "Use your imagination. You've got piles of spare time compared to her. Find her something at a thrift shop, get them to hold it, then take her there on a date. She'll appreciate that you were thinking about her when she wasn't with you, and she can spend her own money. That way, you're being really nice without making her feel like you've bought her."

Victor flushed. He hadn't realized…it explained so much about Jamie. Clementina nodded.

"Tammy's right, that would be a lot better. It's a little sad that we have to explain this to you, you know."

"All right, all right," he said. "I'm a privileged rich boy. I'm trying to grow out of it."

Tammy laughed. Clementina snorted. "We know that, don't we, girl? That's the only reason we haven't warned you off."

Victor gave her an incredulous smile.

"No, I'm not kidding. We take of our own, here. That skinny skateboarder, Griffin? The one who follows Jamie around sometimes? He's usually taking note of where the two of you go. Officer Nogueira, too. He thinks a lot of our Jamie."

"We all do," said Tammy. "She has a real nose for trouble. She's saved us a lot of grief."

To his surprise, Victor found himself completely unoffended. He liked hearing them praise Jamie, he realized, and it felt good to know that they were looking out for her. There were drug dealers in the neighborhood and possibly worse. "I like her too," he said. "She's not like anyone I've ever known."

"Well good," said Clementina, with a small smile. "As for the jacket, tell them she wears a size 8. She's not little, but she has no meat on her bones. Now get out of here and let us finish closing the place up. Some of us have to work for a living."

#### Jamie

Thanksgiving morning dawned cold and grey. The shop opened late, at 9 in the morning. Business was slow; people were off work, out of school, and in no hurry to go out for coffee. Tammy had left just before the shop opened, dressed to kill and alight with anticipation. Tibebu was cooking a feast upstairs in the main apartment. Jamie and Clemmie were keeping the shop open until 4 p.m., when Girum and his cousin Redwan were to come down and help Jamie clean up so that Clemmie could get across town to her cousin's.

Victor was celebrating with a big mid-day family dinner at his guardian's place south of the city. Jamie had no plans and had thought she wouldn't care, but the bustle and anticipation that came with virtually every encounter began to eat at her. When Marcus arrived just after noon, her mood lifted until she got a good look at his face. 

"What's wrong?" said Clemmie, sharply.

"I just saw Tammy Lynn at the Melford Place restaurant. She's with Boris again."

Clemmie almost dropped a tray of dirty mugs and plates that she had been clearing. "That stupid little fool," she said, her voice like lead. Boris was one of the most active local drug dealers, a Russian ex-pat thug with dubious political views and the sort of charisma that attracts violent followers.

Marc nodded grimly. "Do you know if she's using again?"

"If she is, she's been hiding it well," said Jamie, after a moment. "She knows better than to do it on the property after that scene last summer. But I can't keep track of her every time she goes off the property."

"Maybe I can help you with that," said a sardonic voice from the table by the front window. 

"Oh, hello, Griffin," said Marc. "I didn't notice you there."

"No one does," the boy said, with a trace of a whine. He stood up, brushing muffin crumbs off his dark grey T-shirt and black jeans. "But that's useful sometimes. So, Jamie, should I try to follow her?"

"Yes, but don't risk yourself. Boris is …."

"Yeah, yeah, he's not the only big bad wolf in the city," said Griffin. He pulled on a grubby puffer jacket and dragged a threadbare woolen beanie over his close-cropped hair, then kicked his plank up from under the table. Jamie came around the counter to meet him.

"Here's some walking-around money," she said, quietly, pressed a few bills into his hand.

"Good man," said Marc. "You know my usual beat, yes?"

"Of course I do," said Griffin. He slouched his way to the door and left.

Clemmie shook her head and resumed bussing. Jamie served Marc some coffee and a sandwich, then wiped the counter pointlessly after he left. It was already spotless. Lucky Beans had only half a dozen more customers before the boys came down to close up. Just as Clemmie went to lock the front door, it opened to reveal Victor with a large cooler.

"Well, what are you doing here?" said Clemmie. "I thought you were off in the country, eating roast goose and drinking fine wine."

"We certainly don't eat goose on Thanksgiving, Ms. Clementina," he said. "We had turkey, just like everyone else. But I wanted to make sure Jamie had a decent dinner, so I got Addison's cook to put together a few things."

Something both painful and warm happened inside Jamie's chest. She looked around the room, where the boys where poking each other and laughing as they put up the chairs, and then cast a pleading glance at Clemmie. She usually didn't allow her girls to have visitors upstairs.

"All right, all right," grumbled the manager. "You're a good boy, I guess, and better up there while Tibebu has his kinfolk visiting than at some other time. Let me get you some plates: Jamie eats down here, so that kitchen is pretty bare."

"No need: I have disposable stuff along with the food," said Victor.

"Then grab a trash bag, at least. Girum! Redwan! Stop clowning around before you break something!"

Jamie grabbed a plastic garbage bag and pulled Victor up the stairs.

The little apartment was quite bare: a living/dining room with an elderly dinette table and three chairs, a dilapidated sofa, a milk-crate bookcase overflowing with Tammy Lynn's romance paperbacks and Jamie's scattering of textbooks and secondhand mythology and folklore books. A slip of a bedroom, with two narrow beds, a closet with no door, and a battered dresser. A tiny kitchen with a two-burner hotplate, half-sized refrigerator, sink, and a couple of cabinets. A small bathroom with a shower and sink, missing tiles and with a cracked mirror, but fiercely clean.

Victor didn't seem to notice any of it. He dressed the table with a festive paper tablecloth, matching napkins, heavy-duty paper plates, plastic cups that imitated cut crystal, and silvery plastic tableware. Then the food: a platter of turkey, a little cup of gravy, bowls of dressing, green beans, and mashed potatoes, sliced yams, a dish of pickles and marinated olives, another of cranberry sauce, pieces of pumpkin pie and slices of chocolate cake. He filled the big cups with cranberry ginger ale and the little ones with a few fingers of sparkling wine. "Come on," he said, flushed and expansive. "Let's eat!"

To Jamie, it looked like something out of a magazine. She never ate much, but now she wanted to at least try everything. Victor seemed to rejoice with each mouthful she swallowed. At last, when she reluctantly left half her cake on the plate, he gathered up the leftovers and made them fit into the little fridge, then bagged everything else up, ready for the dumpster.

They sat on the old sofa, glazed and dazed with too much food, and talked in little bits and pieces of conversation, nothing important. Jamie carefully avoided her worries about Tammy Lynn. "This reminds me of Christmas when I was tiny," said Victor, at last. "Mom always made a real effort, and back then, even Dad would try to put on a show. There was everything in the world that was good to eat, it seemed to me. The rest of the time, somehow there was never anything much in the kitchen."

"We never had anything much either," said Jamie. "Were you an only child?"

This simple question pulled him up short. "Well, yeah," he said, slowly. "I think I had cousins or something once or twice? I remember my nanny teaching two of us to ski, on the slopes up behind the house. It's this place in Colorado. She was teaching me and this little girl."

"The nanny's name was Winnie," said Jamie, her eyes fixed on something far away. "She had red curls, and she had been a soldier. I thought that was great: a lady soldier."

Victor sat up sharply, ignoring the protest from his full gut. "How do you know that? Yeah, Winnie. Her real name was Winter. She taught me karate too, and how to shoot a gun."

"Your father yelled at her and you. She wasn't supposed to teach me anything. Just you."

"That _was_ you! But you just disappeared one day."

Jamie put one hand over her eyes. "Your father got weird and horrible with me. He said I was just like your mother. Winnie tried to stop him. He hit her. She could have killed him, but he was the boss. He said I was bad for you, worse than bad. He put me on a plane by myself. I was seven."

Victor stared at her. "I was ten. Where did you go?"

"To Veronuela, where my great-uncle had a crazy big house on a mountain, its top so high we actually had snow in the winter, its feet in the jungle below. We could see the Great Lagoon and the harbor on clear days. There was just him, his nutty brother, and a whole bunch of servants who weren't supposed to speak. Sometimes he'd bring in weird tutors or teachers for me. I learned Spanish dancing, French, Russian, fencing, knife-fighting. There were never any other kids. I missed you."

"I missed you too. Dad got worse. I have nightmares about him."

"I dream about my great-uncle's house. It was spooky. There were dead animal pelts and heads all over the place. But your father should leave you alone."

Victor laughed, a grim and mirthless sound, and closed his eyes. "Yeah, he should. He's dead. But the last thing he ever said to me was that I was a traitor, because I looked relieved when Addison came to take me away." He looked at her again. "What I can't figure out is, why were you there?"

Jamie shook her head. "I don't know. Great Uncle Terencio never talked about it. Look, I want to show you something."

She went to her room and rummaged under the bed for the backpack she'd brought with her from Veronuela. Inside was a something wrapped in an old, soft silk scarf. She brought it out to Victor and unwrapped it: a book, dumpy and old-fashioned, with a cover of soft, blonde leather, mottled in shades from champagne to ochre. "I…had to leave. Almost two years ago, now. Terencio said I should have it someday, that I would learn my story from it, so I took it when I left. But it's all in Latin. I don't know Latin. I can guess at words because I know Spanish, but that's kind of even worse than not recognizing anything at all. I think most of it is just a Bible, but look."

She showed him where the last pages were much thicker, and some of them were separating into layers. "I don't want to destroy it. And I probably couldn't read what it said inside anyway, even if I could get the pages apart."

Victor took it from her gently. "What a mystery. You know, I might know someone who could read the Latin, at least."

She felt a little rising excitement. "It would be wonderful to know what's in there."

"May I take it?"

"Please."

"I probably should go. It's getting late, and I did a lot of driving today. Maybe I'll get some sleep."

"Yes, you should go, or Clemmie will come up and tell both of us off. No nightmares tonight, OK?"

#### Victor

Victor had trouble settling to sleep that night. His thoughts kept circling around, dredging up more memories of the little girl who had shared his life for those years of his childhood, following him like a shadow. Had she arrived before or after Victor's mother had left? Had they met? He thought they had.

When he did fall asleep, there was Grant again. What a shock. But when his father started getting really wound up about Jamie, she showed up in the dream. She said something to Grant in Spanish, something Victor didn't catch, and he froze there, staring at them, and then he started to fade. Jamie was singing, but her voice was not the grown Jamie of today. It was the skinny little girl who crept to his bed at night so many years ago to sing him lullabies:

_Arrorró mi Tori, arrorró mi sol,_  
_Arrorró pedazo de mi corazón._

When he woke in the morning, he felt surprisingly good. He got dressed and called Kinston. "Hey, good morning, cuz. Hope I didn't wake you."

"Uh, no. I was up already." Kin sounded confused, and Victor couldn't actually blame him. "What's up?"

"Can I come down and show you something?" Victor asked.

"Wow, um, yeah, why not?"

"Bye, then. See you in a minute."

It was a chilly day, but bright and clear. Victor threw on a jacket and picked up the wrapped book carefully. Kinston was waiting for him at the door of the basement apartment. "Come in," said his cousin.

The basement apartment was tidy and a little bare, but nothing like Jamie's poor excuse for living quarters. Victor held out the bundle. "Do you have a clean place I can put this down and unwrap it?"

"Sure," said Kinston. He moved some textbooks and a small laptop off the little dining table. "Is this good enough?" His pale eyes were lively with curiosity.

Victor laid down his burden and unwrapped it. "Oh," said Kin. "That's…may I touch it?"

"Absolutely," said Victor. "I wanted you to look at it. It's in Latin. You got some kind of a prize for Latin in high school, didn't you?"

"Yes. I'm going to wash my hands first." Kinston did a surgeon's scrub in the kitchen sink, then dried his hands carefully and came back. "Hmm. It's a Bible."

"We figured that," said Victor. "But look at the last few pages."

"Oh. How weird! Well, it's done so carefully, it has to have been on purpose. It's only become obvious because the edges are worn here. I wonder what's being hidden?"

"That's what Jamie wants to know."

"Ah, Jamie Talisman? I know you've been hanging out with her."

"Yes, she's a friend," said Victor, a little too quickly.

Kinston looked at him for a moment and then gave him a gentle smile. "It's not my business, Victor. She's nice but kind of scary sometimes, you know? Some kids were hassling one of the regulars the other day, and all the sudden she looked actually predatory. Nothing much happened, but it made a real impression." He shut the book and turned it over, stroking the back cover. "The leather's so soft. Book leather is usually tougher than this."

"I didn't know you knew things like that about books," said Victor.

"So here's the thing. I've been volunteering in the library at Mount Alban Institute—you know, our think tank? There's an old fellow who's really expert at restoring old books and manuscripts, I bet he'd love this, and maybe you can get Jamie her answers."

"That's amazing, Kin. You're great."

Kinston looked embarrassed, peering up at Victor through his white bangs. "Well, I'm glad to do it. I know you don't like me, but you're decent to me anyway."

Victor punched him ever so lightly on the shoulder. "I'm a jerk sometimes, I need to remember I'm not the only person in the world with problems."

Kinston wrapped the book up again, smiling faintly. "Just check with Jamie that she actually wants Ignatz to get those pages apart before I show it to him. He gets obsessive about solving interesting puzzles."

"I'll do that," said Victor.

#### Jamie

Another month, another holiday, thought Jamie.

Christmas was all over the place. The old townhouses in the Holt Street area had wreaths on their doors and lighted trees showing in their windows, At Lucky Beans, cocoa was the thing to drink, flavored with peppermint or holiday spices, and lots of people wanted the special whipped cream with the sprinkles or with cinnamon sugar. Kitara, the new barista apprentice and maid of all work, was horrified to discover that Jamie had never had a Christmas tree.

"Clemmie, did you hear that?" she said, as she stacked clean mugs along the shelf where Jamie could get them.

"That's sad," agreed Clementina. "I'm going to see what I can do about it, too. Now, where's Officer Nogueira? He's almost an hour late."

Jamie frowned, thinking. "Clemmie, did you see Tammy Lynn this morning?"

"What? She's up already?"

"She was up before me. She was all dressed, and she went out the door without saying goodbye or anything."

"She doesn't do that?" asked Kitara.

"No, she likes to sleep in. She was glad when Jamie switched shifts."

"Ms. Clementina," said a familiar voice.

Marcus was there, his face so grim he was almost unrecognizable.

"Oh no," said Clementina. "It's Tammy, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said. "I need you to come to the Capital Hospital Center with me, to identify her for the records and help with her paperwork. It looks like an overdose."

Jamie's vision constricted. "Boris," she said. "She must have gone to meet him."

"Now, Jamie 'miga, don't go off on this. We'll be looking for him. One semester of criminal justice doesn't make you a police officer. Ms. Clementina, do you need a coat?"

"I'll get it. Jamie, get your mind on business. Call Tibebu, you need help down here, we're that busy. Kitara, look lively. We need you."

The two of them went out. Jamie called the owner, who came down and brought Girum with him. Jamie made drinks like a robot, her mind racing. When Griffin came in, she all but pounced on him. "Griffin Grusky, did you see—?"

He gestured sharply for her silence, glancing around the shop. "Yeah, she met him outside Efemia's Nails. But they got in a Lyft and went somewhere. I lost them on 14th Street, where the speed limit goes up. She came back an hour or two later and went to the beauty supply place, but she was nodding. Then she passed out. The owner called 911, I went for Officer Noguiera. He got there right after the ambulance. He talked to the medics, and I could tell it was bad. After they went off with the siren going, he questioned me and came over here. I went and took a quick look in the Norseman: you know Bazarov likes that place. But nothing."

She got him a large cocoa, extra whip, and he went to hide out in his preferred corner. Tibebu told her to go off at her usual time. She went upstairs and changed into jeans, her black boots, the jacket Victor had found for her at Thrift A Go Go, the black gloves she'd just bought. And Marc's baton, in the thin pocket Tammy had sewn into those jeans. She went to put up her hair, and as she looked in the mirror, she suddenly saw someone else. Tori.

Confused, she lost track of what she was doing with her hair. It all fell down again. Stop it, she told herself. Mind on business, Jaimelia. But she knew what she'd seen: a remarkable resemblance between herself and the man who'd become her friendly shadow.

She went out the back door and quartered the area, speaking tersely to the shopkeepers and layabouts who knew Tammy, but no one seemed to know anything, She came back to Lucky Beans at about 5:00, and found a grey-faced Clemmie drinking coffee, with Tibebu's arm around her shoulders.

"She's gone," said Clemmie. "She just—stopped breathing. They all came piling in and pounded her chest and shocked her, but she was already gone."

"Did you find out anything, Jamie?" asked Tibebu.

"Nothing but what Griffin told me earlier," she said and repeated it. "He told Marc all that, though."

"We're closing," said Tibebu. "A member of our family has passed. The customers will understand."

Redwan had arrived at some point. He and Girum dimmed the front window lights, turned the door sign to "Closed," and started cleaning up. When Clemmie had finished her coffee, Tibebu helped her to the stairs. As he opened the door, Boo shot out and made a dash for the shop's back door.

"Oh Lord," said Tibebu. "That's all I need now. Jamie, child, please get him."

The back door was indeed open: Redwan was tossing garbage bags into the dumpster. Jamie ran past him. Boo was disappearing up the alley toward 6th Street. She ran after him, but by the time she got to the mouth of the alley, he had vanished from sight.

Damn. Jamie circled halfway around the block and headed back up Graham Street toward the Norseman Bar and Grill. Boo had had a couple of spectacular fights with the owner's cat there: maybe he'd like to try again.

As she got to the Norseman, Boris Bazarov was coming out. Two of his thugs were waiting for him. They turned the corner onto 8th street, and then into the alley halfway up the next block. When Jamie came cautiously around the corner, they were waiting for her.

"Well, look who's here," said one of the thugs.

"Why, it's little Miss Talisman," said Boris. "You look wound up, honey. I hear Tammy Lightfoot kicked it. Oh well, one less lousy junkie to walk the city streets."

"That junkie loved you," said Jamie. "I know you gave her the junk that killed her."

"Oh, do you, devotchka?"

The Russian endearment, with its uncomplimentary implications, set her teeth on edge. "You'd be surprised what I know, you son of a bitch" she said, in his own language.

His face changed. He gestured to one of his thugs, who charged her. He was a musclebound bear, not well centered. She threw him into a wall. The next one was lighter, more agile. She got him into an arm hold, elbow locked, then pulled hard. She'd never heard a joint break before, but now she knew the sound. He roared and staggered away. Jamie checked her footing and looked over at Boris. "Next?" she said.

It was likely he had a gun, but it was a knife he pulled out. She slipped her hand down the outside of her jeans leg. When he aimed a blow at her face, she whipped the baton out and down on his wrist. There was a sharp, cracking thud, He hissed and transferred the knife to his off hand. While he was busy, she brought the baton sharply against the side of his head, near his eye.

He screamed and dropped to his knees, the knife falling to the ground.

The man she'd thrown into the wall was up and headed toward her, but suddenly there were flashing lights at the mouth of the alley, and a familiar voice shouted "Freeze!"

Jamie let the baton fall to the concrete. "I'm sorry, Marc," she said. "I guess I won't be going to Clemmie's sister's for Christmas."

#### Victor

"Look," said Addison. "I appreciate that she's a fine girl, trying to make something of herself, all that. But you must face facts, my boy. She's a foreign national—"

"No," said Victor, trying to keep his voice under control. "She has a U.S. birth certificate."

"She's most recently from Veronuela, whoever her father was. Veronuela has all kinds of drug-related actions going on, not to mention that their economy is falling apart despite their oil reserves. Law enforcement experts regard Veronuelans with suspicion."

"That thug she whacked was a drug dealer. And an immigrant himself."

"They've never been able to make any charges stick against him, so on paper, he's no worse than the next guy. He's a very clever and dangerous man. Also, he may lose that eye. The law here in the Capital District is that you can't carry a concealed weapon."

"It wasn't a firearm!" Victor shouted, losing his temper at last.

"Look, law student North, you need to read these things more closely. _Any_ concealed weapon is illegal, especially if carried with hostile intent. Everyone in that part of the city knows that your young woman had a grudge against Boris Bazarov because he was her chum Tammy Lynn Lightfoot's former boyfriend. She went out that night looking for trouble, carrying that extensible baton."

"No, she was out looking for her boss' lost cat! It's a tough neighborhood after dark, it was only sensible of her to bring the baton. And Bazarov supplied Tammy with a lethal overdose of opioids."

"No one is going to make those charges stick, despite the neighborhood officer's testimony," said Addison. "I'm sorry. That's the truth."

"Look, you're part of one of the most powerful organizations in the nation."

"I can't bring KenCyr resources to bear on the case of a random nineteen-year-old accused of a violent crime. It's not our business."

That was it, then. Victor had to go big or go home. He grabbed his briefcase, opened it, pulled out Jamie's mysterious book, and Kinston's annotated and sticky-flagged partial copy. He turned the copy to the relevant page, the material that Kinston had found in the hidden pages, and thrust it under Addison's nose. "What if it actually _was_ KenCyr business, Mr. Arden?"

Addison looked as though he might have a heart attack then and there at Victor's effrontery. Then his eyes started tracking: the family tree, Grant North's name, Jamie's mother Maria Jaimelia, Victor's mother Ariana, Kinston's mother Theresa, their common ancestor the great dancer and spy Jaimelia de la Natividad y Norte ... "Where did you get this?" hissed Addison.

#### Jamie

Jamie felt utterly ridiculous.

Victor should never have sent Burr to buy a dress. It was pink and frilly and looked like a country and western singer's idea of a debutante's gown. It was so low-cut and big in the chest that Clementina had hastily stitched the neckline partially shut and disguised the resulting mess with a knot of bright red fake flowers from an old Easter hat. Kitara had declared the nylons that had come with it a no-go, since Jamie refused to shave her legs, and they'd rummaged through Tammy's old clothes and found a pair of white tights that more or less fit. Jamie was wearing her own black leather boots and the leather jacket Victor had helped her buy.

It was not a winning look.

Seated around the big conference table at KenCyr's local headquarters were Victor, his guardian Addison Arden, Addison's older sister Adriana, Lyra's and Callista's father Calvin Cameron, his mother Catherine, KenCyr senior security officer Harlen Randall, Victor himself, and an intense young woman who was introduced as Karen Jarman, recently appointed head of the KenCyr think tank. They were all well-dressed and fairly reeked of wealth, except for Dr. Jarman, who instead reeked of brainpower.

"Look," said Cameron. "I think a stint in a mental institution would be a good start. The right drugs, she'd calm down and be more pliable. I know some doctors who'd stay bought quite nicely. You say she's up to snuff academically, despite her upbringing. A nice women's college, like St. Anne's, and then we can marry her off in the family. A nice wedding, the end."

"Yes, because that all worked so well for your Laura," said Catherine, with a brilliant smile that showed far too many yellowed teeth. She was a terrifying old woman, and whatever she was implying, it made Cameron grind his own teeth.

"Some counseling might indeed be a good idea," said Addison, his voice gentle. "Certainly we should see to Jaimelia's higher education: she is one of our own. As for marrying her off, I daresay Victor might have some ideas about that. But in the end, it's her own choice. This is the 21st century, Calvin."

"They're related," said Cameron. "Isn't that incest?"

"In our group?" cackled Catherine.

Victor flushed a deep, unbecoming red. Jamie stared at her wrinkled white knees peeping out from beneath pink frills and wished the floor would fall in, carrying her away from this table.

"With all due respect," said Dr. Jarman, "I think all of that would be a waste of a good mind as well as our time and money. Except for the last bit, which is up to her, as you pointed out, Addison. Ms. Talisman is a resilient young woman who has mostly overcome her unfortunate past. Her talents are many, and not of the more gentle sort. Frankly, if we are making a show of having her prove herself committed to change, my staff and I have a rather different suggestion: the military."

"What!" Cameron thumped one fist on the table, making the coffee cups and pens jump. Dr. Jarman picked up her laptop and looked pained.

Addison gave her wintry little smile. "You academics will have your little joke."

"Why is it a joke?" asked Adriana, her face equally frosty. "It's quite the thing nowadays. Look at Senator Gansworthy."

"She's a _liberal_ ," said Cameron, disgusted.

"KenCyr is non-partisan," murmured Addison. "We are, in fact, looking to make some inroads into the more stable sort of liberal groups. I daresay a dashing and articulate female veteran would be an asset. What do you think, Harlen? This is much more your area."

"She's not very big," said Harlen, his ugly face twisted into a thoughtful scowl. "But I talked with her karate master, like you said, Dr. Jarman, and community police officer Nogueira—an old buddy of mine from the Gulf War, actually. She has a lot of endurance and exceptional reflexes. All she wants is the heart, I'd judge. What about it, Miss Talisman?"

Jamie stared at the faces of these powerful people. Addison looked mildly interested, Cameron angry and thwarted, Catherine amused, Adriana expectant, Dr. Jarman curious, Harlen kind. She didn't dare look at Victor. "I ... I think it might be a good thing," she said, at last.

"The _military_?" Victor said. "She could get killed."

"She could get killed outside that quaint coffee shop on Holt Street, Victor," said Addison. "And I think your young woman has some impulses that might be best suited to military endeavors."

"Damn it, Addison. You wouldn't let me go to Eastport, back when I asked."

"It wasn't the best use of your talent and your father's reputation," said Addison.

"Perhaps your young friend will go there instead," said Catherine, with a mischievous and malicious glance at her son. "It's not like any of Calvin's lot will!"

"She could," agreed Dr. Jarman. "If she does well during her initial two-year tour, she could get an appointment to one of the academies."

"I could make certain of it," said Addison, after a moment's consideration.

"No!" said Jamie. Every head turned to stare at her. She felt sweat break out on her upper lip. "I mean," she said, carefully, "I want to do it myself. I want it to _mean_ something."

"It wouldn't hurt to simply direct the right people's attention to your efforts, Ms. Talisman," said Dr. Jarman. "So you're willing to take up our proposal?"

Now Jamie turned to Victor, but he shook his head. "Jamie, it has to be what _you_ want to do."

She looked at the powerful council of elders, the movers and shakers of the KenCyr machine. "I'd like to talk to Victor alone," she said.

Harlen nodded, decisively, and Addison waved them off.

In the drafty little penthouse at the top of the building, they looked at the city lights together for a few moments. Finally, Jamie sighed. "We're cousins," she said. "I'm not sure what we should make of that. But I think I'll be looking for a recruiting office."

"Soon?" he said, his heart in his throat.

"Soon enough," she said. "But I'll need to finish training Kitara. Clemmie will still have fits, needing to find another barista so soon. Maybe when spring breaks, I'll go."

"Will you stay with me, until then?"

"I'd rather you wait for me," she said. "Let me finish out my time at Lucky Beans, this part of my life. When I've finished my training, my tour of duty, then I'll know who I am."

"And then you'll come home?"

"Maybe," she said. "Look, Tori: it's snowing."

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in an AU Washington DC, as some may have noticed. The "Holt Street area" is DC's H Street corridor, which is indeed chockablock with Ethiopian restaurants and a stone's throw from Capitol Hill, where fine townhouses serve as home bases for the rich and politically connected. The area is in transition, with criminal enterprises and abandoned buildings cheek-to-jowl with shiny new businesses catering to the well-to-do. 
> 
> The Spanish lullaby that wee!Jamie sings young Tori is from [Mama Lisa's World](https://www.mamalisa.com). Jamie's version translates roughly to: _Hush now my Tori, hush now my sun / Hush now little piece of my heart._


End file.
